


you snap the whip

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Roller Derby AU, good good skate boys, good good skate everyone tbh, shit team six aka lance and pidge: the ultimate wingmen(tm), slightly fuckboy shiro, very exasperated keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: The Lions. As in, the Altean Lions. As in, the Galaxy Garrison’s number one rival. Yeah, their rivalry is sort of legendary in the local roller derby circuits, but nothing’s happened lately to make it flare up. Hell, their teams haven’t even seen each other yet. What about the Lions is so different now?or, keith is a jammer for the Galaxy Garrison roller derby team. When their top rival recruits a new blocker, his world gets flip-turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i think about how shiro's thighs would look in a derby uniform a lot.
> 
> p.s. i don't skate derby, so excuse any liberties i take!
> 
> feel free to come say hi or talk ridiculous au concepts over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/)!  
> i also have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/these_mortals), if that's a thing you're into.  
> 

Keith winces for the umpteenth time in an hour as he rubs more alcohol onto his battered, blistered feet. Soaking them in the sink definitely helped, but it’s still a bitch to hobble around his apartment looking for band aids. He knew better than to try and break in a new set of skates at a season opener, he really did, but they just looked so nice in their box, and he couldn’t stop looking at them and touching them and then Pidge gave him those new laces and _just_. He made a choice. A terrible choice, but a choice all the same.

His phone buzzes from the kitchen counter, and Keith sighs, dragging himself up from the couch and shambling over to read it.

 **Lance:** _mullet!!!_

 **Lance:** _get yo raggedy ass off ur couch and come to this partay!!!_

Keith rolls his tired eyes. The annual league mixer is something Lance always looks forward to. He gets it, he really does. It’s a chance to meet new people in the league and, for Lance anyway, show off the thighs roller skating earns them. Tonight, however, a hot bath full of epsom salt calls Keith’s name.

 **Me:** _Sorry, man. I’m gonna have to sit this one out. I can barely walk._

 **Lance:** _told u! i told ur dumb ass not to use those skates!_

Keith snorts at his phone and tosses it down on the couch. It buzzes again before it even hits the cushion.

 **Pidge:** _Motherfucker, I swear to god if you can’t jam this weekend…_

 **Me:** _Come on, Pidge. It’s just the usual. I’ll be fine._

 **Pidge:** _> :[ !!!_

Keith smiles at her emoticon and shuffles into the bathroom to ease his battered body then head to bed for the night.

The next morning, Keith wakes up to way more messages than usual. They’re all from his team, and a few people outside of it, but every single text is from someone related to the derby league. He scrolls to the top-most message and starts there.

 **Lance:** _boyyyyy u shoulda come to this shindig_

 **Lance:** _this fresh meat is FRESH_

 **Lance:** _very meaty_

 **Lance:** _just the freshest meatiest meat_

Keith sighs at Lance’s message. So he had a good time, then. He keeps scrolling.

 **Pidge:** _Keith._

 **Pidge:** _Keith. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life._

 **Pidge:** _But Keith, you really fucked up not coming tonight._

Okay, usually when Pidge tells him he’s fucked up, then he’s Fucked Up, so this must have been something big. He still doesn’t really _get it_ , though, because there wasn’t anything monumental scheduled for the mixer. Just the usual party-drink-peacock-friendly smack talk-stumble home drunk business. He ignores most of the rest of the messages, since they all seem to follow the same theme, until Hunk’s sticks out to him.

 **Hunk:** _Hooooo boy, Keith. Just wait until you guys face the Lions._

The Lions. As in, the Altean Lions. As in, the Galaxy Garrison’s number one rival. Yeah, their rivalry is sort of legendary in the local roller derby circuits, but nothing’s happened lately to make it flare up. Hell, their teams haven’t even seen each other yet. What about the Lions is so different now?

 **Me:** _Why? They make you head ref?_

 **Hunk:** _Well hey! You’re alive!_

 **Hunk:** _They did, but no. That’s definitely not why._

 

+++

 

“Mullet, open up! It’s time to head to the rink!”

Lance’s shrilling startles Keith out of the catnap he was powering through on the couch. He doesn’t even have a chance to sit up before Lance bounds through the door and skids into the living room.

“You knew it was unlocked, asshole,” Keith grumbles, glaring up at him

“Yeah man, but you coulda been, like, jerkin’ off in here or something. I dunno your life.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Anyway!” Lance smirks, tugging Keith off the couch. “You ready to face these Lions?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Great! They’ve got this new blocker you have _got_ to see. I’m not even kidding, Keith, you’re gonna shit your tight little pants.”

“Fantastic.”

The good thing about Keith’s shitty little apartment is that it’s only two blocks from the local rink. This is particularly advantageous because he doesn’t have to worry about parking the bike or anything; he and Lance can just stroll on down. Unfortunately, this also means that everyone heading to the bout can see the skaters arriving. Keith really isn’t one for garnering attention. He likes to keep his shit pretty low-key. It keeps him out of trouble. Okay, it doesn’t, but he tries.

As Keith and Lance push through the front doors, it becomes quickly apparent that _something_ is up. This bout is still early on in the season, but the room is packed to the gills with sweaty bodies. The atmosphere is almost like a finals match. College kids, local enthusiasts, other league teams, even teams from leagues they don’t skate in are crammed in from wall-to-wall. Alcohol sloshes from solo cups, terrible top 40s music blares from overhead, the fluorescents above flicker and pop in the humid air.

Keith and Lance share a quizzical look and elbow their way through the crowds toward the employee-bathrooms-turned-locker-rooms at the back. Allura’s sharp gaze greets them as they enter the room and everyone goes silent.

“So, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, things are pretty packed out there.”

“Yeah, uh, what the _fuck_?” Keith asks with feeling.

Allura stares him down for a moment before coming to a realization, a slow, creeping smirk crawling across her lips.

“Keith, you weren’t at the mixer.”

“I know.”

The entire room smiles at him now, and look, Keith is a fighter. He pretty much punched his way out of the womb. He’s fucking _scrappy_. This shit, though? This shit makes him want to bolt right on out of this building.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Pidge stage whispers.

“Yes, it is,” Shay, one of their blockers agrees.

“Well, then!” Allura calls, clapping her hands together. “Suit up!”

Keith snaps his pads on his elbows and knees, throws the star panty on his helmet, and tightens his laces. The Lions are a tough-ass team. They always have been. Their jammers are decent, but they really shine when it comes to defense. Last year, they lost a few members of their line to moves and graduations, so Keith is itching to see what they’ve got on deck for this season.

It doesn’t really matter, though. Keith and Pidge are the best damn jammers this side of the Mississippi. Even though most of the Lions’ team are built like brick shit-houses, Keith and Pidge have it where it counts. They’re lithe, mean, and fast as hell. Keith’s never seen anyone break through a line the way Pidge can. She’s all sharp elbows and grit, and if she can’t do it alone, put her on the end of Lance’s whip and you’ve got yourself a deadly combination.

Pidge slaps Keith’s ass on the way out of the bathroom and winks at him over her shoulder as she passes.

“God, Keith, I can’t wait for you to see this.”

Keith for sure knows there’s some sort of joke he’s not in on now, and he’s just about ready to fight the world.

“To see _what?!_ ”

“You’ll see, babe. It’s good. Real good.”

Lance brays like a damn donkey on his way to the rink, throwing Pidge a smacking high-five. The Lions are already rinkside, their captain handing their lineup sheet over to Hunk, the head officiator for the night’s bout. Allura glides over to do the same, and the Garrison make their way over to their section of the rink. Keith hardly pays attention as he throws his water bottle in his chair and bends over to tug his socks up. Lance keeps his head on a swivel, though. He always sees things literally nobody else sees.

A low whistle sounds out over Keith’s head. Still bent over, he snaps his attention upward at his teammate.

“Don’t look now, Keith,” Lance drawls, “but it looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer.”

“What?” Keith asks, poking his head in between his knees to glance over in the direction of Lance’s attention. It’s not the best view, since he’s seeing it upside down, but across the rink, sitting in the Lions’ section is a solid mass of muscle, white on black hair, and steely eyes. Steely eyes trained directly on Keith. He pulls his head back off to the side and finishes adjusting.

When he stands, Lance is watching him in amusement.

“I don’t understand,” Keith says. “He’s probably just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh, he’s sizing up _something_ , baby boy.”

“Fuck off, Lance,” Keith growls, shoving him away.

“Just wait ‘til you see him up close. There’s a reason the crowd tonight is so big.”

“I really don’t get it.”

“Oh, you will. Pidge and I have a bet.”

Lance skates away to get ready for the pre-bout pace line, so Keith is left to shout at his back.

“A bet? A BET ON WHAT?!”

The Lions are technically the away team, so prior to the bout, they got to decide whether they’d pace line first or not. They chose a secondary pace line, so the Garrison have to warm up first. It’s a power move, to be sure. It’ll let them size up the Garrison’s skaters, and get a sneak peek at the kind of talent they’re working with. Allura is nothing short of a strategic mastermind, though. See, most teams pace line with their blockers in the front and their jammers in the back, fast to fastest. That way, they can last-minute practice whips and any other maneuvers they so choose.

Allura doesn’t play that way, though. She puts the jammers at the front and has the blockers lap the line. Their team’s already practiced enough outside of bout days that they don’t need to show off, and having their blockers practice speed runs confuses their opponents enough that it gives them the slightest edge in execution.

So, Keith and Pidge take it easy while their defense rolls around them. They talk strategy for the bout, adjust some things they’ve been working on, and eyeball tonight’s refs to see how strict the calls will be. The entire time, Keith’s back burns with the attention he knows he’s getting from somewhere. He can feel it on his skin, even through his pads and clothes. As he rounds the track, he casually glances around the perimeter and finds the source. The same skunk-hair guy from before, eyes focused and fixated on Keith.

He’s right side up now, and...very big. He was way less intimidating upside down, and now his searing gaze is following Keith around the track. Well that’s not unsettling at all. Keith notes a metal prosthetic arm, and momentarily wonders how that’s legal.

“I see you’ve seen it,” Pidge notes.

“It?” Keith raises an eyebrow at her. “Is that what all the texts I got were about?”

“He’s very beefy. You should hear him talk.”

“Pidge, what the fuck.”

The center ref blows his whistle to signify team change, and the Lions come out to take their place on the track while the Garrison slip over to their side of the rink.

“It’s a very manly voice,” Pidge continues. “Just like... _Hello, there. It’s so nice to meet you. Have you met my biceps yet?_ ”

Her voice drops nearly four octaves, and it’s actually impressive. Keith is impressed.

“Pidge, what the _fuck_.”

She laughs and sits down to adjust her skates. The whistle blares again and Keith stands, hands on hips, to watch the Lions run their paces. The guy, he still doesn’t know who he is, takes the lead blocker space on their pace line and heads it up, the team’s movement following his lead. After two laps, he drops back to the end of the line, allowing the rest to warm up. When he gets to the back, their team rounds the turn closest to the Garrison pit and he throws Keith a wink.

A fucking _wink_.

Keith chokes on the sip of water he was taking, and Pidge snorts in glee, slapping his back.

“Lance! Lance, you owe me twenty bucks!”

“Son of a _bitch_!”

The whistle blows again, and the ref calls them to set the lines.

Keith always takes first jam, so he and the Lions’ jammer, some chick named Nyma, head off to their spot on the track, while a mixture of Garrison and Lions blockers take their places just ahead at the pivot line. Lance tosses a look over his shoulder at Keith, who nods and wrinkles his eyebrows in concentration. He takes a deep breath and crouches at the line.

The whistle blares, and Keith shoots forward, slicing his way through the pivot line and slamming his palm into Lance’s outstretched hand. Lance gives a harsh tug and throws Keith around the turn in the track, and he takes off, cutting a quick lap around the floor and meeting back with the line. The ref declares him the lead jammer, ready to score points, and it’s _on_.

Lance starts throwing biceps and thighs, Shay sees Nyma pulling up on Keith’s right and drops back to stop her, and Keith does his best to weave through the madness. He does great until he hits a wall. A meat wall. A beefy, sweaty, manly meat wall. Skunk-hair and two of his buddies are at the front of the pack, bodies pressed together and swaying side to side, doing their finest impression of a prison fence.

Keith scoffs and does a little pivot to scoot around them, but an elbow catches him in the ribs, sending him sprawling and the ref’s whistle blowing. Scowling, Keith flips over to push himself up, when a hand shoots out under his nose. He doesn’t recognize that hand. He follows it up the arm to the face, only to find good ol’ skunky himself at the end.

“Well, legs? You gonna let me help you up?”

Keith sneers at the hand and the name and pushes himself up from the ground.

“I’m a big boy. And that’s not my name,” he grits out, and skates off, ready to take his place again.

“I’d much rather call you something more pleasant than Meatgrinder,” skunky says, following him around the track.

“Dunno why, it’s more accurate.” Keith answers, stopping at the jammer line. “I can demonstrate the name for you, if you’d like.”

Skunk-hair looks a little impressed, but then just smirks at Keith instead.

“I’m Shiro.”

Keith cranes his neck at the back of the guy’s shirt.

“That’s not what your uniform says, Sharkbait.”

Shiro loud laughs and skates off to join the pivot line.

 

+++

 

A bloody nose, torn shirt, and three penalties later, the Garrison wins the bout with a score of 15-12. It’s not a record-setter, but Keith’ll take it. In fact, he’ll take it, smile, and gratefully ask for more, because even if he looks like hell, the Lions, somehow, look _worse._ It’s a special kind of feeling, to see your greatest rivals tore up from the floor up, and man, does it ever make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

He’s laughing with Pidge as they skate back toward the bathrooms after the bout when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and beckoning him to spin around. He does, and comes nose to chest with Shiro. There’s a towel slung over his shoulders, and as Keith turns, one end brushes across his nose. He can feel his entire face suck in on itself at the sensation of it, and as his gaze slides upward, Shiro has the decency to look sheepish.

Up close, he isn’t quite as intimidating as Keith had originally thought. His jaw is sharp as a razor, but his eyes are soft and doey, and he has a light scar trailing across the bridge of his nose. His hair’s dried down to what Keith can only think to call _floofy_ , and he wears a dopey kind of grin that sort of doesn’t make sense on his face.

Pidge cackles and keeps walking toward the bathroom.

“Lance, you owe me thirty now!”

“ _MOTHERFUCKER._ ”

Keith and Shiro watch her until she disappears through the threshold before Shiro speaks up.

“Uh, hey there.”

“Hello,” Keith answers, crossing his arms across his chest.

“That was some good skating out there.”

“Turns out you gotta skate to be on a roller derby team.”

Shiro laughs, eyes scrunching up and shoulders shaking. When he finishes, he thrusts out a hand in greeting. “I’m Shiro.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but takes up the hand all the same. “I know. You said so when you called me legs.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. That was track-talk.”

“Sure, I get it,” Keith shrugs. He does get it, though. He’s called all sorts of people all sorts of things out on the track and not felt a twinge of regret. It just comes with the territory. “The name’s Keith.”

“People do call you that, though. Legs, I mean. You’re kinda known for them.”

Well that’s new. Keith narrows his eyes at Shiro’s chest, trying to piece together what kind of game Shiro thinks he’s playing at.

“They’re good legs,” Shiro adds. Keith’s eyes widen and he looks back up at Shiro’s face, now tinted a light pink. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, looking somewhere off to the side. “I thought maybe, if you’d be into it, I could take you and your legs out? For a coffee or something? You know, talk strategy or something.”

“I, uhhhh,” Keith’s mind blurs out before he can catch up, and suddenly, Lance is at his side elbowing him in the ribs.

“He’d _love_ to!” Lance shoves him back into the bathroom. “Just let him change first!”

“What-” Keith’s objections are cut off with a searing glare from Lance. He leans forward, nose touching Keith’s, and grits his teeth, hissing through them.

“Keith, I swear to god, if you don’t get coffee with this man, I will have Allura kick you off this team.”

“But, I-”

“No buts! I have _money on this,_ Keith! REAL, HUMAN MONEY.”

“That’s not my fault,” Keith mumbles.

“No, but your crushing heartbreak will be if you don’t go out with that man!”

“What are you even talking about, Lance?”

“Oh please, he’s your dream daddy. We all called it the first night we saw him! You have to go. Just do this one thing and I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

“That’s a damn lie and you know it,” Pidge says, sidling up to them in street clothes. “But he’s right, Keith. He’s your exact type. You need this.”

Keith sighs. They’re not exactly wrong or anything, but, “He’s a rival.”

“So what?” Lance says. “I dated someone on the Galra team, remember? This couldn’t possibly be a bigger shit show than that was.”

Pidge snorts. “You got that right.”

Keith sighs, pinching his nose. “Okay, alright. You’re not wrong.”

“We know,” they deadpan in tandem.

“Now go change!” Pidge shouts, shoving him toward his bag.

He shimmies out of his sweat-soaked uniform and into his street clothes, sprays himself down with his finest can of Axe, and pulls his hair back into a little ponytail. Looking in the mirror, he sighs. Good enough. _Okay,_ he thinks, fists clenched, _okay, this is no big deal. This is fine. I can do this. I can go drink coffee with a devastatingly beautiful brute and not act like a fucking alien. That is something I can definitely do. Okay._

He strides from the bathroom to a rink that’s emptied of everyone except for a few stragglers. Shiro is standing a few feet away from the door, playing on his phone, but he looks up at the sound of Keith’s feet hitting the ground. He lets loose a brilliant smile, and it punches Keith directly in the brain stem. His heart stutters in his chest, his thoughts go fuzzy, and he thinks, briefly, that he may need to take a knee.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

“So, Keith,” Shiro starts casually, pushing out into the humid night air, “which came first: the skating or the legs?”

Keith’s left eyebrow becomes intimate with his hairline. If he didn’t think this guy could kill him with his jawbone alone, he’d probably punch him right in the tits.

“I dunno. Which came first: the muscles or the bullshit?”

“The bullshit?” Shiro asks innocently. He inclines his head down the street and starts walking. At least someone here knows what’s going on, because even now, Keith is lost. He scoffs at Shiro’s question.

“' _The skating or the legs?’_ C’mon, man. Who helps you write those absolute panty-droppers?”

“Oh, I come by that natural,” Shiro says lightly. His eyes gleam with mischief in the street lights they pass under. Keith’s entire skeleton crumbles to dust within him. “But for real, you’ve been on the circuit a while. You’re pretty much a legend. Why skating?”

They stop in front of a Starbucks and Shiro pulls open the door to allow Keith entry. How very chivalrous. Keith glides in toward the counter, pretending to consider what to order while he figures out how much to give away.

“That’s kind of a long story,” he mumbles. Shiro knocks an elbow into his arm.

“We’ve got time.”

Fair enough. Still, though. Keith just met this guy and from what he’s seen, he’s entirely too smooth to trust completely. At least, he _thinks_ he’s smooth. Keith will absolutely refuse until his dying day to admit that this guy is smooth. Even though he is. Super smooth. It’s obnoxious, really.

“Then you can go first,” Keith answers in defiance. “Sharkbait.”

Shiro laughs and his face softens. “I can if you’d like.”

They place their orders and when the cashier asks their names, Shiro swoops in to answer before Keith can open his mouth; _Oh, yeah, I’m Shiro and he’s Meatgrinder, PhD. Can you make sure the PhD ends up on the cup? He’s very proud of it._

The baristas laugh with a little more feeling than is absolutely necessary at his joke and start up their drinks. Keith wants to die. He glances at Shiro’s chest, trying to figure out which tit to punch first.

“See something you like?” Shiro asks, cocky.

“Something I’d like to kick the shit out of.”

Shiro’s expression falls and he sheepishly reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” Keith doesn’t believe him. He rakes his eyes from the white fluff of hair down to the neon yellow adidas on Shiro’s feet and raises an eyebrow again. He senses, deep in his soul, that this may become a pattern. Shiro catches his drift, though, and curls a metal arm around himself protectively. “Keith, can I be honest with you?”

“You haven’t yet, but I’d love to see you try,” he deadpans. Shiro winces, and for a second, Keith feels victorious. Then Shiro lets out a deep breath of defeat, and he feels a little guilty. He’s always been sharp edges and bluntness. Not out of a drive to be a shit or anything. It’s just kind of how he’s always been. People have tried to soften him down, and over time he’s gotten better, but still. He forgets how easily he can cut. Shiro grinds the toe of his ridiculous shoe into the ground for a few moments. Suddenly, his head snaps up and his eyes catch Keith’s, full of determination.

“I’ve been trying to meet you for a while now.” Keith’s eyes widen before he can catch himself. Shiro winces again. “Fuck, that sounds creepy. Get it together, Shirogane.”

“I’ve got a Grande Vanilla Latte for Shiro and a Triple Grande Hazelnut Macchiato for, uh...Meatgrinder...PhD?” The barista’s confusion is a welcome distraction, and Keith jumps to attention, rushing over to grab their drinks.

“Thanks so much, I’m just really proud of my degree,” he says blandly, dropping a few dollars in their tip jar. He turns around to hand the drink off to Shiro, but his attention is elsewhere. He’s standing right where Keith left him, but his arms are crossed and his focus fixed off somewhere in the middle distance. People wander around him, giving a wide berth as they pass, and suddenly it occurs to Keith just how imposing this big dumbass must seem to others. He’s easily six feet tall, thick as a brick shithouse, and covered in scars. If he kept his mouth shut he’d be scary as all get-out.

Unfortunately enough for Keith, he _has_ opened his mouth and the illusion is shattered.

Either way, There’s a hot drink in his hand that he didn’t pay for, so Keith feels a responsibility to see this evening through. Wandering back over, he sets a hand down lightly on Shiro’s flesh arm. Shiro jolts back to himself and smiles apologetically down at Keith, reaching out for his cup.

“Sorry, I...travel sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Keith answers quietly, “I can tell.”

“Well, should we go grab a table?”

“I do prefer to drink these sitting down. And never let it be said that I don’t honor a commitment, so.” Keith spots a table toward the back and heads that way.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shiro responds to his back. They settle into wobbly chairs and sip at their drinks in silence. Shiro’s obviously still somewhere else in his head, which is just as well for Keith. He’s perfectly content staring out of the window with his chin in his hand. Finally, Shiro clears his throat and Keith slides his eyes back over to him.

“I started skating before I enlisted.”

Oh. So it’s gonna be that kind of chat. Keith hunkers down and pulls his cup closer.

“I did derby for a little while. Nothing too serious. Sometimes my buddies would need a pinch hitter on qualification nights or times where a few kids on the team had exams or something. It wasn’t often, maybe three or four times.” He stops for a moment to take a sip. “Anyway, right before I left for boot camp - like, literally three days before, I saw you for the first time. I wasn’t skating, but I decided to go out and see a bout one night, and you were there. You were the meanest thing I’d ever seen, you know? I’d heard a little about you. People talk. Heard there was this new, tough son of a bitch, tearing through people on the circuit. I didn’t really buy in until I saw you that night.”

Keith doesn’t know what to do with that information. It’s kind of a lot for him to deal with, and it seems like it’s kind of a lot for Shiro to unload. So he stays quiet and nods his head for him to continue.

“So there I am, this scrawny asshole about to go off to be a big damn hero, and this tiny little flash of lightning hits the track. You were...you make a statement every time you move. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Keith snorts. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that.”

“It’s a compliment, I promise,” Shiro smiles. “Anyway, you were really something else. All grit and power. Your legs. You have these _legs_ , Keith.”

Keith glances down at his lap. “I’m aware. I’ve had ‘em for a while now, I think.”

Shiro laughs, bright and cheery. Keith’s heart does a little somersault in his chest and _fuck_.

“They’re _such good legs_ , Keith. It’s disrespectful, honestly.”

It’s Keith’s turn to laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

“Yeah, so, there you were, just dominating this shithole track out in some flea-bitten city rink, and I’m getting _pissed_ , because you’re just so much all at once. I’m watching you, and all you’re focused on is this job you have to do. It was like you were programmed for battle and only battle.”

“And that pissed you off?” Keith asks, a little insulted.

“Okay, _yeah_ , it _did_. Because, look. I’m not the kind of guy that believes in divinity or providence or whatever. I’m really not. But there I was, watching my literal dream in real time in front of me, knowing I ship out that week. Do you know what that does to a guy?”

“I can’t really say that I do,” Keith answers honestly. Try as he might, and goddamn is he really trying, Keith can’t deny that Shiro is sex on legs. He truly is. He’s tall, cut, and beautiful. The frat boy edge is fucking annoying, but Keith can deal with that in exchange for a little beauty. He’s a guy that can make sacrifices if need be. And the need be. The need really, _really_ be. Still, though, he’s never gone through anything like Shiro is describing. He’s never felt the needle deep sting of attraction like a thorn in his side. Maybe like an itch to be scratched, but nothing so soul-shattering as this.

“Yeah, that’s fair. Not every angel knows its perfection.”

“Gross,” Keith retches. Shiro laughs again.

“I thought I’d try.”

“Consider it a failure. Now continue, please.”

“Okay, so I see you, you’re gorgeous, you’re fire, and I have to leave soon. So I push you from my head and get on down to business. I leave for boot camp, forget about you for awhile, and everything is fine. Everything is totally chill, and I absolutely don’t think about your ass every now and again when I’m cleaning my gun or checking the oil in a humvee or, I dunno, sitting perfectly still doing nothing.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a lie,” Shiro says, lips twitching. “But, boot camp ends, and I come home for a couple months until I get deployed or moved, whichever comes first. So when I get back, my buddy says, ‘Hey, Shiro, we need a pinch hit again, you wanna come down to the rink?’ And I’m thinking about the things I’m gonna have to do between then and when I leave home again, but then a pair of legs cuts through my head, all long and lean, and I’m like, ‘Fucking of course I do.’ Which, now that I say it out loud, feels a little desperate.”

Keith regards him in silence. His knuckles are white around the cup he grips in his hands. He rakes his prosthetic through his white bangs and glances up at Keith through them, head bowed in embarrassment.

“So I get to the track, and turns out they don’t need me after all. But I’m already there, so I figure I’ll stick around to watch. Lo and behold, the rival team is yours. I asked my buddy about you after the bout, but he told me not to bother, so I assumed you weren’t single, or you were straight, or whatever. Fair enough, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“But then I just kept _seeing_ you everywhere after that. Like, at the supermarket or at the library. Or, uh, at all the bouts I knew you’d be skating in that I went and watched.”

“That’s pretty creepy, dude.”

“Yeah, but you’re really something else.”

“I could say the same about you.” Shiro flushes bright red, and Keith is loathe to admit how adorable it is. To think that this overgrown puppy of a man has been pining after some dirty street kid for so long is almost funny. It’s still a little weird, but life is a little weird. Keith, of all people, knows this intimately. “Why didn’t you ever just come say hi?”

“Have you _seen_ you? You’re terrifying.”

“Well, that’s rude.”

“No, just. I couldn’t figure out how to just do it. Every time I psyched myself up, you’d cut your eyes at something, or swing an arm, and I dunno, I’d just kind of...lose it.”

“You’re really making me sound like some sort of golden god.”

“I mean,” Shiro answers, staring him straight in the face. “But then I got deployed. Which, truthfully, was probably the best way for me to figure out what was going on in my head.”

“And did you?” Keith asks, partially out of encouragement, but mostly out of curiosity.

“I did. It was hero worship.”

Keith snorts loud, choking on a sip of his drink. " _Hero worship?!"_

Shiro smiles and reaches out, wiping a drop of coffee from Keith’s chin. It’s an unspoken gesture, but it jars him. Just like that, Shiro breaks a line he’d been toeing all night. Keith snaps his mouth shut and Shiro pulls away like he’d been burned.

“Sorry, you just had a, uh. Sorry.”

“No, no it’s fine. Thanks.”

They stop for a minute, not making eye contact. It’s awkward, hearing someone tell you about their huge, nerdy crush on you, but in a sense, Keith feels flattered. Nobody has ever thought of Keith like this. At least, if they had, he’d never heard about it. It’s sweet, in a naive sort of way.

“You know, being in the desert with nothing to do really gives you time to think,” Shiro continues quietly. “I realized that, yeah, you’re gorgeous and my actual dream, but I wasn’t really drawn to you just for that. I liked what I saw in you. You were strong and determined. You defended everyone around you with everything you had. You’d smile, and it was rare, but it was _real_. Hardly anyone smiles for real.”

“That’s kind of dismal,” Keith comments.

“But it’s true. But I’m rambling. Fast forward a few months, we’re out on a mission. Nothing huge, just some diplomacy building with the locals. Something was off from the start, I could feel it, but I was still pretty fresh, you know? After a while, you get used to the desert, you get used to the way things work out there. That day, it was too quiet. I think we all knew it, but the thing about the military is that you aren’t totally trained to listen to your gut. You’re trained to complete the mission.”

Keith looks down at Shiro’s silver hand. He’s drumming his fingers on the table in a nonsensical rhythm, all nervous and staccato.

“Long story short, that’s how I lost my arm and came home. It took me a long while to put myself back together, but I did. I got a job writing weapons manuals, and joined the league to stay active. I figured you’d be long gone by now, off to better things or whatever, but when I went to the mixer, your team started yelling about you and I figured it was time. Fate can only give you so many chances.”

“You think me skating is fate.” It’s not so much a question as it is a statement, but Keith knows Shiro can read between the lines.

“I think me ending up where you are is,” Shiro says. It falls so earnestly from his lips, like a law of the universe he cannot deny.

Shiro is an interesting guy, Keith has to admit. Looks aside, he’s a lot deeper than Keith gave him credit for, and he’s been through absolute hell. Still, he seems to have come out the other side a little more balanced than a lot of other people could, given the same circumstances. It’s admirable. Keith likes resilience in a person. Keith himself is resilience, he likes to think. The more he looks at him, the more Keith sees the qualities in Shiro that he respects.

Shiro is a man who fell apart, rebuilt himself, and chose to triumph over the wreckage rather than wrap himself in the shrapnel. He has humor and grit and terrible lines. Seriously.

“Your lines are the worst,” Keith says. Shiro chuckles, a deep, amused rumble in his chest.

“Yeah, they are,” he admits.

“Don’t expect me to fall naked at your feet just because you had a crush on me and went off to war.”

“I would never,” Shiro answers, honest and resolute.

“Good.” Keith pauses. “I started skating because I was lost. I grew up in the system, didn’t have anyone for a long time, got angry. The usual. Got into a few fights, almost got kicked out of school.”

“Sounds rough,” Shiro says sympathetically. Keith eyes his prosthetic and glares at the tone. Shiro has the good sense to look properly chastised.

“Anyway, I met Lance one time in senior year when I was waiting to see the principal. He’d seen me get in a few fights, said he thought he had something to help with my aggression. One thing led to another, and here we are. Me and my legs. They came first, by the way.”

Shiro blushes deep red at that.

“Remind me to thank Lance.”

“Please don’t. He’s already got money riding on this, and I’m planning on fucking with him. If anyone asks, this was a disaster and we didn’t pour our entire disgusting hearts out to a person we’ve never met before.”

“Terrible date, no conversation. Got it.”

Keith’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He already knows what he’ll find, but he pulls it out anyway.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” he mumbles, swiping the message open.

 **Lance:** _keith!_

 **Lance:** _mine best friend!!_

 **Lance:** _light of my life whom i adore above all others!_

Keith sighs at the screen and rolls his eyes.

“That good, huh?” Shiro asks.

“He’s trying to be sneaky and find out if he won before I decide to tell him,” Keith answers, tapping away at the screen.

 **Me:** _Fuck off, Lance._

 **Lance:** _baby! how could u???_

 **Lance:** _don’t i treat u nice???_

 **Me:** _What do you want._

 **Lance:** _yikes, hit me with the period_

 **Lance:** _just checking in on my sweetest and dearest friend_

Keith ignores him and returns his attention to Shiro, who watches from across the table in silent contemplation. Keith can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he studies the phone clutched in Keith’s hands. It buzzes again.

 **Lance:** _sooooo...how’s the date????_

“There it is,” Keith sighs.

“You wanna fuck with him, right?” Shiro asks brightly, and when Keith looks back at him, he’s beaming. The dude is damn near dripping excitement all over the floor, and Keith can’t resist the giddy energy.

“What are you thinking?”

Shiro holds his hand out for Keith’s phone, and he doesn’t even hesitate to hand it over. See, sometimes Keith’s desire to stir shit outweighs his sense of self-preservation. The moment his phone leaves his grasp, he realizes how vulnerable he is. His whole life is on that thing. Also, his ability to call anyone if he gets into trouble is on that thing. That thing is in the big, warm hands of someone who is basically a stranger. An attractive, buff, tough-as-nails stranger with a giant crush on Keith. It’s a lot to process.

Shiro types into his phone with a purpose. When he’s done, he slides it back across the table and pulls out his own with a smirk. Keith’s phone buzzes on the lacquered surface.

“You should get that,” Shiro says, gesturing to it with his chin. Keith knits his eyebrows and picks it up.

 **Shiro <3: ** _I’d really like a demonstration of your meatgrinding._

It takes absolutely zero effort for Keith to send Lance a picture of himself flipping off Shiro.

 **Pidge:** _You just won a bitch fifty bucks, so thanks for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith just has these _legs_ , y'all.  
> shiro can't help it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the team practices, shiro pines, keith panics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *suprise_bitch.gif*

Practice sessions are always the worst. Keith likes the work of them, but he hates the opportunity for goofing off and idle chit chat. Okay, he doesn’t always hate it, if he’s being honest. Really, he just hates it _today._

Lance and Pidge skate around him in wide arcs, two comets trapped in Keith’s atmosphere as he pointedly tries to ignore their existence. Let them crash and burn, as far as he’s concerned. He won’t let them win this little game they’re playing at his expense.

“Soooo,” Lance singsongs at him as Keith stoops down to tighten his skate lace, “how was your special alone time with you know who?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Keith answers, voice devoid of all life. His soul is feeling that way lately, and _shit_ that’s dark.

“To be fair, you definitely could have phrased that better,” Pidge points out. “You made it sound a little creepy there, man.”

A brief respite of silence graces the air around Keith before Lance seems to just ignore the point and roll on.

“You know what I mean. Keith. _Buddy._ C’mon. You’ve left us in the dark for an actual week. We don’t deserve this torture. We’re your friends! You owe us more than this!”

“I actually don’t,” Keith scoffs. “And you deserve every bit of torture I deign to give you.”

Pidge laughs loud at his shoulder and gives in, skating off to bug Allura about something. As she goes, she throws a wink over her shoulder in Keith’s direction. “Matt’s best friends with him, you know. If you don’t tell us about it, I still have a way to find out.”

Lance lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree and Keith sighs. Right. Matt. Pidge’s illustrious older brother. Basically her twin and just as mischievous, if not more so than her. Keith often forgets how many connections the Holts have throughout the city. Their roots run deep and sprawling, a side effect of being the innovators behind one of the largest tech companies in the country. Keith should have assumed she’d be able to insert herself into his latest venture with no trouble at all.

Still, he can’t help but feel like the butt of a joke everyone is in on as he skates toward the chair holding his belongings. It’s like everyone knew about Shiro’s feelings concerning Keith before Keith ever did and they’re all just conspiring to push him toward a result he’s not even sure he wants yet. It’s a lot to deal with, and he doesn’t know where to start. Or if he even wants to.

He picks up his sweat towel to wipe his face, and as he does, his cell phone buzzes from his bag. He grabs it, checking the screen as he swaps his towel for his water bottle to gulp some down. It should come as no surprise, what he sees, and yet.

 **Shiro <3: ** _Good afternoon, Keith._

 **Shiro <3: ** _I have a question for you._

Keith’s stomach drops in a strange tumble. It’s nervous and anticipatory and a little bit barfy. He both hates it and has no idea what to do with it, so in true himself fashion, he shoves the feeling down and avoids dealing with it altogether.

 **Me:** _What is your question?_

 **Shiro <3: ** _What are you doing in thirty minutes?_

 **Me:** _Practice._

Typing bubbles appear and disappear, appear and disappear again until, finally, Shiro’s answer comes through.

 **Shiro <3: ** _...Where does your team practice?_

It’s suspicious, and Keith knows better than to tell him. He really does.

But he’s curious by nature.

 **Me:** _The wheels complex downtown. But I feel like you already know that._

 **Me:** _Why._

 **Shiro <3: ** _...No reason._

Keith sees where this is heading. He can feel the rumble of the road as the tires squeal his way. He can hear the failed slamming of the brakes as the conclusion skids up on him. Shiro doesn’t say anything more. Keith is doomed. He sighs to himself, slipping his phone back into his bag. There’s nothing for it now but to brace himself and get back to work.

He skates away from the team’s makeshift rest station and tries to refocus on their session. Still, it’s hard to do when everyone on the team seems keen to bring up his evening with Shiro in more and more suggestive ways.

“Okay, but are you gonna tell us how those biceps feel?” Shay asks with a laugh, and Keith feels betrayal deep in his soul. She was his last hope, the final balanced voice on the team, and now she’s dead to him. He closes his eyes and imagines throwing each and every one of them off a tall cliff.

“Please, guys,” Allura pipes up. “You’re making him uncomfortable. Knock it off.”

Keith releases his breath with a smile. “Thanks, ‘Lura.”

“But if you _did,_ perhaps, want to share your experience with _someone,_ ” she continues quietly, “I might know a girl who’s dying to hear all about it.”

Dammit.

Keith skates away grumbling as Pidge and Lance double over in laughter at their captain’s comment.

“Alright, that’s enough of that!” Allura announces with a clap of her hands. “I’d like to try something new before we leave today’s session!”

The team gathers in the center of the rink as Allura grabs her whiteboard and draws up what she’s proposing. It looks a little complicated, but Keith is always game to try something new. He thinks he sees where she’s going with it and his nerves light up in excitement.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” she says, pointing down at her chart. “It’s not so much a strategy as it is a good distraction and way to throw someone ahead. Lance is our best whip on the team, right?”

Mumbles of agreement meet her questions.

“So let’s take advantage of that fact. The other teams know he’s our best, so they’re expecting us to use him the same way all the time. But what if we don’t? What if we hit them with something unexpected?”

Lance and Keith meet eyes across the pack of their team and smirk at each other.

“So what I want, if we can manage it,” Allura says, “is to try a pass under Lance’s legs.”

A startled laugh works its way from between Keith’s lips. He can visualize exactly what she means: Lance reaching back to grab hands with Pidge and tug her right beneath his long, long legs, throwing her forward to rocket down the track. It’ll take some maneuvering, and they’ll definitely have to hit the gym to improve their flexibility for the action, but if they can pull it off? Nobody’ll know what hit ‘em.

“Is that move legal, though?” another teammate asks.

“Well, it’s not explicitly _il_ legal…”Allura hedges. It’s the most underhanded thing Keith has ever heard her say and he’s very nearly shocked. Above that, though, he’s proud.

“It’s also not entirely fair,” a new voice breaks through from the entrance of the rink. Keith knows that voice. That voice has haunted him for an entire week. He stifles a groan as the entire team shifts their focus to the doors to find Shiro standing there. Looking only at Keith. “Hey.”

Allura and Pidge look like they’ve just been given the best gift of their lives.

“Twenty bucks,” Lance whispers.

“You’re on,” Pidge agrees quietly, slapping his hand.

The Garrison team huddle parts like the red sea as Shiro ambles over to Keith casual as you please, and for a brief moment, Keith sees red. He doesn’t need this type of distraction or rumor fuel while he’s in the rink. He doesn’t know if he could handle it. Rumors run hot in the scene and he’s been lucky to avoid them so far, for the most part. Shiro must notice his annoyance, because his face goes sheepish and he drops his gaze with a light shoulder shrug.

“I, uh. I wanted to see you,” he says to the floor.

“You were already texting me,” Keith answers. He tries so hard for annoyance, but he just can’t beat back the amusement he feels at so thoroughly chastising the other man without saying a single word. “You could have just asked to see me later.”

“Maybe so,” Shiro admits, looking back up into Keith’s eyes. “But you wouldn’t have been in skates later.”

“Yes, and you coincidentally couldn’t have spied on our practice later, huh?”

Shiro’s face goes pale, his shoulders stiffening up around his ears. “Keith, I would never-that’s not at all why-you don’t really think-?”

Keith snorts loud and ugly in the face of Shiro’s panic. He sets a hand down on his forearm to shut him up. “Nah. I don’t think you have a duplicitous bone in your body, man.”

Shiro relaxes under his touch, eyes dropping to the set of Keith’s fingers touching his skin.

“Oh,” Keith whispers, pulling his hand away. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shiro answers earnestly, a smile pulling his mouth high.

“You better pay up, bitch,” Pidge mutters from somewhere behind Keith.

“Well, as adorable as this all is,” Lance pipes up, “and, believe me, it really is, we need to finish practice.”

Right. Practice. Skating practice. The reason they’re here. Keith is wearing skates because he’s here for skating practice. Got it.

“Hey, why don’t I call you after I'm done, yeah?” he asks quietly. Shiro’s eyes soften down at him and he nods, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cool. I’ll talk to you later, then,” Keith answers resolutely, shoving Shiro away. “Now leave. This is a closed practice.”

Shiro laughs and follows his instruction, waving as he pushes out into the street. The rink is deadly silent in his wake. Keith can feel his team’s collective intake of breath just before-

“Keith Kogane!” Allura shouts. “How _dare_ you?”

And, yeah. Yeah, he deserves that.

“In my defense, I didn’t think he’d actually show up here.”

“Irrelevant!” Allura shoots back with a hand raised in the air. “What if we were _actually_ working the tactic? What if he’d _seen,_ Keith?”

“We could call it intimidation.”

“ _Keith._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry, cap.”

“Yes, well. As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith replies with a salute, and just like that, all is forgiven. Allura smiles and skates away, back toward the center of the rink.

“Now! If we’re all done ogling Keith’s monumental waste of an opportunity, let’s get down to business.”

The entire team _ooooh’s_ at Keith, and he prays for a bolt of lightning to strike him down as he positions himself at the jam line. He checks his watch. Only forty minutes of practice left. He can do this.

Twenty minutes go by and Keith realizes he seriously cannot do this. Everyone keeps skating around him trying to tease out details of his coffee with Shiro, and if they didn’t already have something else to focus on, Keith would be impressed at their persistence. As it is, he finds himself more annoyed than anything.

Like Pidge said, she has someone who would be more than willing to divulge details. They could all just go to Matt.

He doesn’t realize he said that bit aloud until Pidge snorts, positioning herself at the jam line, and says, “Yeah, but your blush right now? Better payoff than actual details. Which I still want.”

Allura blows her whistle and Pidge rockets off down the track. Lance is skating just ahead, body visibly thrumming with energy, and as Pidge makes her approach, he twists around effortlessly to spot her. She skates up quick and efficient, already moving into a crouch, and just as easy as anything, Lance reaches between his legs, grabs her by the wrists, and _tugs._ She goes sailing between his spread legs and forward, a tiny cannonball shooting along the curve of the track, and when she’s finally free of Lance’s atmosphere, she pops straight up and absolutely murders the straightaway.

The team stops skating.

The rink goes quiet.

All at once, the room goes deafening with the force of all of their screams and laughter.

Pidge’s face is absolutely incandescent as she slows to a stop with her fists raised high and Lance skates up quick, scooping her over his shoulder with a loud _whoop!_

“Lance, Pidge, that was amazing!” Allura cries in delight. “I think we can end practice on that note today.”

One final cheer goes up around the team, and they all head for the locker rooms to change. As usual, Keith, Pidge, and Lance take up the rear of the pack, just behind Allura.

Pidge barely waits a tick before bringing Shiro up again. “Well, did you like him? Shiro.”

“I, uh,” Keith starts. It’s hard to say, really, how he’s feeling. Their conversation was a lot to take in, and yes, Shiro is Keith’s type right down to the letter, but it’s hard to parse out his feelings when nobody gives him a chance to actually do so. He chooses silence instead of finishing his thought.

“For real, though, Keith,” Lance says seriously. “If this whole Shiro thing makes you uncomfortable, we can stop. It’s just, dude, you never go out with _anyone._ This is some juicy shit. We love juicy shit.”

“ _Love_ it,” Pidge affirms.

“I must admit, I do as well,” Allura adds from ahead of them. Keith looks between the three of them, all open faces and bright eyes. They’re the closest friends he’s got, so he should have expected the puppy eye tag team. And yet.

He sighs. “Look, I-he’s really nice.”

“Nice,” Pidge deadpans with raised brow.

“Yes. Nice. Really open. He’s...attractive.”

“Eyyyyy!” Lance crows. “Twenty bucks, Allura!”

“What?!” Keith demands, sight pivoting to a sheepish Allura.

“I apologize, Keith. I was the first to predict this outcome, however. After all, I am the one Shiro asked about you at the mixer.”

“What?!” The broken record schtick is not Keith’s favorite, turns out.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Pidge says innocently, tapping her chin. “I could have sworn I told you all about it. The three of us around the punch bowl when he walks up all, ‘ _hello there, Keith’s teammates and Katie. I notice your beautiful and graceful gazelle of a teammate isn’t here with his long, luscious legs. I would very much like to smooch him in the back alley by the dumpsters. Do you happen to know if I might could do that tonight?’_ ”

She clasps her hands together and bats her eyelashes like a Disney princess, and with the drop in tone of her voice, it’s an extremely disconcerting feeling for Keith to wrangle with.

“That did not happen,” he says, slightly mortified.

“Well, not in so many words,” Allura answers with a shit-eating grin. Keith feels his soul wither away for the millionth time. He’s tired. So tired. He just wanted to skate and maybe punch a few people. You know, just good old fashioned fun. He never wanted this soap opera. Days of Our Skates. General Skates-pital. All My Jammers.

It’s too much.

His phone buzzes in his bag.

He closes his eyes.

“Look,” Keith says with finality. “I think I like him. I wanna feel it out. He said he admired me? That I was his hero? That’s kind of a lot to think about. I’m still dealing with it. Besides, we’ve only talked the once and texted a little. It’s not that serious.”

“Maybe you should tell him that, then,” Allura sighs. “He is quite invested in you, from what I hear.”

“Jesus Christ,” Keith mutters as he checks his phone.

 **Shiro <3: ** _Your next bout is against the Galra, right?_

 **Me:** _Yes. Why?_

 **Shiro <3: ** _Good luck. They’re tough this year._

They don’t need luck, but it’s a sweet sentiment all the same.

 **Shiro <3: ** _I’ll see you tomorrow night, then._

The sky comes crashing down around Keith’s shoulders. Just flat-out, chicken little, ass over elbows tumbling into oblivion type of doom. Nobody notices. His grip around his phone goes tight.

“So, you’re telling me that hot stack of muscle took you out for coffee, called you his hero, and you didn’t let him hit it?” Lance prattles from beside him, tugging a clean shirt over his head. Keith didn’t notice when they actually walked into the locker room, but here he is. Freshly changed into street clothes somehow.

“I mean, it just didn’t come up.”

“Fucking incredible.”

“Look, Keith,” Pidge butts in, waving a stick of deodorant around. “I hate to say this, but Lance is right.”

“Hey!” Lance protests. Pidge holds up a hand to silence him.

“What I’m saying is, that dude is stupid hot and into you. He’s also one the most genuine people I've ever met in my entire life. You should have jumped on that.”

“Well, thanks, you two,” Keith replies flatly. “But it just wasn’t the right time for that.”

“Keith, my man. You haven’t gotten laid since sliced bread was invented. Every time is the right time.”

“Fuck you, Lance.”

“I love you too, bro.”

“Either way, he just said he’s coming to our bout tomorrow night. So there’s that.”

Keith returns to his phone, trying to take stock of his emotions and mental state before formulating a reply.

 **Me:** _Well, then I guess you’ll just have to wish me luck in person._

He hits send before second guessing himself, and once he does, the second guessing comes for him swift as a river instead of waiting for his visit. What he sent was flirty. So flirty. Keith doesn’t flirt. Never has. He's always been more of a utilitarian, get in, find out if it's worth the effort, get out if it's not kinda guy. This is unexplored territory for him.

“That's your ‘I fucked up’ face,” Lance notes.

“A rare sight,” Pidge comments. Keith’s phone buzzes in his hand.

 **Shiro <3: ** _I can’t wait._

Keith fucked up.

 

+++

 

Bout nights are Keith’s favorite nights. The energy, the atmosphere, the raw feeling that crackles through their team. Everything about it calls to him, sets his nerves singing.

He and Lance push into the Skate City rink, where the crowd is already gathered. The crowd reminds Keith of when they faced the Lions. The building is packed wall to wall, drinks already being crushed, music blaring loud from the PA system overhead. There’s already an announcer up front working the audience, and the moment Keith and Lance step onto the floor, the volume doubles.

It takes a moment to shove through the crowd, much longer than is really necessary, in Keith’s opinion, but they eventually reach the locker rooms. As they make their approach for a last moment of blessed peace, someone grabs Keith by the hand. He’s less than surprised when he turns around to find that Shiro is that someone.

“Hey,” he greets with a fond smile. “You ready for this?”

Keith smirks up at him. Skating is his element, derby is his art. He remembers the last time they had a bout against the Galra team. They were less than impressive, and that’s being kind.

“Hey. I think we’ll be fine.”

Shiro squeezes his hand, expression turning clouded.

“I was serious, Keith. Their team is almost all brand new this year. They’re fucking brutal.”

“So am I,” Keith answers, squeezing back. He has no idea what possesses him to show such affection, but there are greater mysteries, he supposes. “Don’t worry, Shiro. We’ll be fine.”

“Takashi.”

“What?”

“You can call me me Takashi.”

Keith stops for a moment, then drops his hand, turning toward the locker room. Before stepping inside, he glances casually back over his shoulder.

“I bet you’d like that.”

The moment he crosses the threshold, Keith clutches his chest like a goddamn romance novel maiden. He needs a second, just one hot second to compose himself before anyone notices him.

“ _I bet you’d like that,_ ” a voice mocks him. It’s Pidge, hands settled delicately over her chest. “ _Wouldn’t you like that, big boy?”_

Lance appears beside her, the back of a hand pressed dramatically to his forehead.

“ _Sweet Keith!”_ he cries, deepening his voice. “ _If I could but be blessed by the beautiful sound of your lips forming my name! I could pass from this world fulfilled!_ ”

They embrace in a flurry of smooching sounds and laughter.

“Fuck off, both of you.”

“We really, really can’t,” Pidge answers, wiping away a fake tear.

Keith sighs and accepts his fate as he slings his bag over his shoulder to go change. After everyone is dressed, Allura gathers them up for their usual pep talk. She’s oddly subdued, where normally she’s charged up and ready to go before a bout.

“I won’t mince words. I’ve seen their lineup. It is...less than encouraging. But! If we stick to our strategies and act smart, then we cannot fail. You’re all incredible skaters, I just know we can do this. So get out there and mess ‘em up!”

It’s as close to a battlecry as Allura gets, and still has the same effect. The team shouts and cheers and rolls out of their locker room. The sound from the crowd as they pass through to their sideline is thunderous. Everybody is buzzed and out for blood, and Keith can _feel it._ It’s in the expressions on their faces, in the press of their bodies, the cadence of their shouts.

Keith drops his bag to his chair and looks around, tightening his gloves. The Galra aren’t on the track yet, and the air zings with the expectation of their arrival. Keith keeps his head on a swivel, but abruptly stops looking around once his eyes meet warm, steely gray. Shiro sits calmly at the end of the track, dead center of the curve, and Keith’s stomach fills with butterflies. Shiro smiles lightly at him, waving with a few metallic fingers. Reflexively, Keith returns the gesture, but drops it lightning fast when the volume ratchets up several octaves around him.

The speakers blare loud with a new song, and Keith looks over just in time to see a team of giants skate onto the track. He has to work hard to suppress the whistle that threatens to pass his lips. They’re all tall, marble cut, and terribly gorgeous. He’d be hard-pressed to find a single one of them shorter than six feet.

“Holy fuck,” Shay whispers, and Keith agrees. This one’s gonna be tough, for sure.

The captains drop off their lineup sheets and thus commences the evening. The ref, someone Keith has never seen before, blows the three minute warning, and Keith stands, heading to take his place for the jam.

As he bends down for one final check of his skates, a dark silhouette falls over him. Their skates are dark purple with silver accents, somehow looking sharp in their composition. He follows them up, sizing up the other jammer as he goes.

She’s huge, imposing, and looks mean as hell. Her eyebrows are set in a permanent glare, and there’s a gleaming to her eyes that sets his nerves on edge. The only reason Keith knows her name is because it’s part of her derby handle, written in purple rhinestones in all caps across her back: ACXA MURDERER. _Holy fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bout, a confrontation, an agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooaaaahhh, i'm back! and i bring some ~*~drama~*~!  
> i'm so sorry i take so long between chapters on this story. i'm just really attached to it, so it takes me a while to figure out how i wanna get from point a to point b sometimes.

“This bout fucking sucks!” Lance shouts, throwing his helmet into his chair. No matter how much Keith agrees, which is a percentage well above one-hundred at this point, he does his best to shush him before he catches a sportsmanship penalty. The ref for this bout is someone they’ve never worked with, and he’s just about as no-nonsense as it gets. Pidge caught a penalty for laughing too hard at someone on the Galra team wiping out. Keith thought it was a bit much, honestly. The fall _was_ pretty funny. Even the guy’s own teammates laughed at him.

Still, the sentiment stands. This bout fucking sucks. Shiro wasn’t kidding when he said the new Galra team was brutal. Keith looks down at his bruised knee and hopes against hope that it won’t hurt too much in the morning. It hurts plenty now, though, so he thinks the chances of a smooth healing are slim to none at this point. From the moment he went down hard on his right leg, Acxa and a few other Galra skaters have been targeting it. It’s been less than pleasant. Keith has a sneaking suspicion that this bout’s ref is in their pocket, because he thinks that their targeting of his leg has been obvious, and yet they’ve received no penalties. That’s just how it goes sometimes, though. He knows for a fact that Hunk sometimes goes lighter on their team than he probably should when he officiates.

Cookies and crumbles and all that.

Keith pats Lance on the back consolingly. “This bout fucking sucks.”

The ref blows his whistle, signaling the end of half-time. Keith stands from his chair, popping his back and windmilling his arms to loosen them up again. He’s had to work extra hard tonight to keep himself loose, considering the fact that their team has had to fight tooth and nail for every single point they’ve wrenched out of the Galra’s hands. Even with all their hard work, the Garrison has found themselves sliding into the back half of the bout with a sharp deficit.

Keith glares over at the scorecard.

 _Garrison: 12,_ _Galra: 16_

He has some thoughts he’d like to share with everyone, but he’s grown since starting in the league. He’s matured. Instead, he keeps his thoughts to himself, letting them fester and fuel his body with a vitriol as yet unseen. You know, like adults do. He draws in a deep breath as Acxa takes her place beside him at the jam line.

Keith allows his eyes to wander, scanning the crowd for a familiar set of soft eyes while the rest of their teams take their places for the next round to begin. Shiro remains elusive, and instead, deft fingers trail down Keith’s arm.

“You skate exceptionally well, you know,” Acxa purrs at him. “Maybe we should train together sometime.” Her fingers skate back up, gliding over his shoulder and across his collarbone. Keith has to focus all of his energy on not flinching at her obvious intimidation tactic. It’s not intimidating, but it _is_ annoying. “Although,” she continues, glancing somewhere over his head, “perhaps not everyone would appreciate that.”

Keith looks up and in the direction of her gaze. There stands Shiro, hands clenched on the barrier of the rink, eyes narrowed at where Acxa’s hand rests casually on Keith’s chest. His face is dark with some sort of emotion, and even though Keith is fairly certain he knows what it is, he can’t think about that. The idea that Shiro would be jealous over Acxa obviously trying to work Keith up is laughable at best. It doesn’t stop a zing of lightning from zipping through his nerves. Keith has never been the kind of person to care about power over other people, but he can certainly see the appeal.

He tries his best to communicate to Shiro with his expression that no, he’s not falling for this, and he thinks it’s ridiculous that he should be subjected to it in the first place, but he’s not sure if he hits his mark. Lance always tells him that when he tries to nonverbally express what he’s thinking he tends to just look constipated. Whether that’s true or not, he’s never been able to confirm. Lance tells him a lot of things make him look constipated.

The whistle blows, signaling marks, and Keith crouches low, preparing to take off. Acxa mirrors his motion, although considerably further away from the ground.

“Why don’t we make a bet, cutie?”

“Excuse me?” Keith is positive he’s just hearing things now. There is no way on Earth he would ever make a bet with an opponent, nevertheless one that is so obviously trying to make him uncomfortable

“If we win, you have to let me take you out. If you win, you have to take me out.” She looks smug as her terms roll from her lips. Something about her manner reminds Keith of a big cat, hunched in a bush as it prepares to take down its prey.

“Are you kidding?”

“Dead serious, sweetheart.” Her eyes drip with a vicious mirth as she emphasizes the final syllable. She drops her eyes to focus on his lips as he answers.

“Dead is what I’d have to be to agree to that.”

“That can be arranged,” she says with a smile just as the whistle blares and she rockets away. In the future, should anyone ask him about this precise moment in time, Keith will vehemently deny that it affects him. Currently, however, he knows it does. His legs wobble as he pushes himself down the track, furiously chasing Acxa’s dust. He does manage to catch up, but only just barely.

The rest of the match goes that way for him. Acxa flirts, Keith flusters, Shiro fumes, Lance complains. Eventually, Keith can’t take it anymore and asks to be pulled from the line. He still wants to see Lance and Pidge try their new maneuver, and there’s no better time for it than now, when their team desperately needs to make up the gap. It would seem that Allura agrees, because a few minutes later, she gives the signal to Lance and Pidge to square up for the whip, and _shit yeah,_ Keith is so excited.

“How you doing over there?” Shiro’s voice breaks through the crowd. Keith wipes his face and leans back in his chair, craning his neck to look back at him.

“Fuckin’ sweaty. Annoyed. The usual.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

“What?” Keith turns around in his chair to get a good look at Shiro. His face is still a little darkened, but not nearly as much as it was when Acxa was messing with Keith earlier. Keith narrows his eyes. “What do you have to be annoyed about?”

“What are you doing after the bout?”

Keith’s neck nearly snaps from the whiplash of the turn in conversation. “What am I—nothing, I don’t think. Why?”

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow in concentration. His face goes serious as he stares down at Keith. “Let me take you out.”

“What?” Keith repeats. The whole repeating himself thing is going to get pretty old pretty quick, he thinks. Shiro sighs. His shoulders slump a bit.

“I just”—he looks out at the rink, eyes settling on Acxa—”Please?” And _ah._ Now Keith understands. Shiro really did get jealous. Which is a little much, because they haven’t established what this whole weird thing between them is yet, and Keith thinks it’s a little much for him to try and stake any claim. But, as he sits and thinks about it, Keith realizes that maybe it’s time to address that. He’s let this situation spiral and grow out of his control just because he hasn’t really known what to do, and he hasn’t been ready to make a decision, and maybe that’s the wrong way to approach this.

Dinner and a good talk would serve them well.

Keith takes pity on Shiro and his kicked puppy expression. “Yeah, okay.” Shiro perks up at the agreement. “But we’re going somewhere with real food. Getting your ass kicked makes you hungry.”

Shiro smiles down at him, eyes softening. “Okay.”

 

+++

 

They lose in a big way. In a huge way. In a gap-in-points-they’ve-never-had-before way.

Allura is furious, in her own silent way, and the rest of the team is just as subdued. Lance and Pidge tried their maneuver on the track, but somehow, the Galra team _knew._ They knew what they were going to do, and they stopped the trick before it even started. There was no way they should have known. It’s not a trick anyone has ever pulled on a track before, and the only people who knew about were the Garrison team.

But that’s not accurate, Keith realizes.

It’s not accurate because somebody else has seen the trick before. Someone else in the league. Someone else whose team would be heavily invested in a Garrison loss, no matter whose hands bring it. Keith’s skin crackles with fury and fire as he changes his clothes and throws on his beat up sneakers. He seethes as he cleans up and throws on some body spray. He rages as he bursts from the locker room, the last of the Garrison team to leave, and grabs Shiro by the collar of his shirt, dragging him outside of the building.

His fury builds as Shiro writhes and protests against his grip. “Keith! Keith, what the fuck are you doing?!” Keith ignores his indignation as he slams him against the brick wall in the alley next to the rink.

“Who did you tell?” he demands quietly. “Only the team and you saw them practice it, Shiro! Who did you tell?!”

“Who did I— _what?!_ ”

“The trick, Shiro! The fucking hand whip! Who did you tell?!”

Shiro splutters when he finally realizes what Keith is demanding. “Are you fucking serious?! Do you honestly think I would do that? Seriously? I’ve been fucking chasing you for _weeks_ now, and you think I would fuck that up by _cheating?!_ Do you really think I’m that shitty of a person?!”

Keith doesn’t know. That’s a lie, really. He does know. He knows Shiro is the complete opposite of a shitty person. But he’s dug this trench now, and he’s going to keep lobbing grenades. He crosses his arms across his chest, glaring up at Shiro’s shocked expression. “Who else would know, Shiro?”

Shiro throws his arms into the air. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! It literally could have been anyone! Someone who works at the rink, a friend that someone slipped to, _shit_ , even someone on your own team! Did you stop to think about that?”

He didn’t. But it doesn’t make sense to him. Nobody ever sticks around the rink to watch their team practice. Granted, Keith doesn’t know if any teammates happened to tell their friends, but he knows for a fact that nobody on the team itself would do something so rancid. Would they?

Keith remains quiet.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shiro huffs to himself. “You know what? I can prove it. Here.” He yanks his phone from his pocket and holds it out to Keith. Keith looks at it, quiet and dark in Shiro’s hand, and tries to figure out where he’s going with this. “Go through it. You’ll find nothing. I have nothing to hide. I could probably help you figure it out if you weren’t acting like such a goddamn brat!”

Keith sucks in a sharp breath, eyes snapping from the phone to Shiro’s face. His cheeks are red with the effort of their argument, tears of frustration welled up in his eyes. Keith lets the breath go and runs a hand through his hair. He just keeps breathing, willing his lungs to get some much-needed oxygen to his head to clear it. He needs to look at this situation objectively. He needs to compile the series of events in a list and pore over it with a highlighter. He can do no such thing here, so he has to settle for going over it in his head.

  1. He and Shiro met before the team ever even concocted the maneuver. That’s one point for Shiro.
  2. Keith still doesn’t entirely know Shiro. Sure, he’s really nice and extremely attractive, but anyone can be those things. That’s one point against Shiro. Back at zero. Awesome.
  3. Shiro’s been interested in Keith since before the current Galra lineup even existed. That’s not entirely relevant, but it does establish previous intent. One point Shiro.
  4. Shiro’s been interested in Keith since before the current _Garrison_ lineup even existed. Another point Shiro. Now he’s at two points. Okay.
  5. Anyone really _could_ have been watching the day they perfected the whip. Although their practice session is very often closed, that doesn’t mean that the rink’s staff can’t pop in to check on them. And he really doesn’t know too much about them at all. Another point Shiro. What is that, three now? That seems excessive.
  6. His teammates all have tons of friends and family outside of their team. There are several brand new members they’ve accepted just this season. It really is conceivable that any one of them could have let details slip to just the right wrong person for the trick to be destroyed before it ever happens.
  7. Now Shiro is at a net positive of four points, and goddammit, Keith is an ass.
  8. He still gets to have doubt, though.
  9. He knows his rights.



Sighing, Keith reaches out and wraps Shiro’s fingers (Shiro’s _big_ fingers, Keith notes) back around his phone. It’s the most apologetic he thinks he’ll be able to be, but the action is contrite nonetheless. He hopes Shiro understands. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Shiro smiles with relief and way more forgiveness than Keith truly deserves. “Let’s get that food. We’ll figure this out.”

He leads Keith down the street silently, walking with purpose. Now that Keith has a chance to observe him, he can’t help but notice the quiet air of command that surrounds Shiro on a near constant basis. He always seems so composed and sure of himself. No matter what happens, he very rarely ends up ruffled. Instead, he goes with the flow, drawing from some endless well of patience. Maybe he can share his secret. God knows Keith could use some of that patience for himself.

They wander into a diner Keith has never even noticed, Shiro greets the hostess with a bright smile and hug. It’s a marked change from just a few minutes before, the stress and frustration melting away to reveal a new Shiro. He’s all easy chatter and questions about the woman’s daughters as she leads them to a booth near the back of the restaurant. She leaves them with menus and heads back to her podium up at the front.

“So,” Shiro begins, cracking his menu open, although Keith has a suspicion he doesn’t really need it.

“So,” Keith repeats, following his lead.

“That was a lot of anger back there.”

Keith instantly deflates. Shiro’s tone wasn’t admonishing or even angry. It was matter-of-fact. _This is a thing you did_. It’s clinical in its efficiency.

“I—yeah. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done all...that. You’ve been nothing but nice and it was pretty shitty of me to do. It’s just—that team is my family. The idea that we’ve been betrayed really stings.”

“Hey, I get it,” Shiro assures, settling his warm, flesh hand down on Keith’s. “Apology accepted. For what it’s worth, I admire your protective instinct. Maybe learn to direct it in better ways, though? Just for the safety of the general public? And my shirts? Maybe?”

Keith chuckles and closes his menu. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, zen master.”

“Patience yields focus, Keith. It’s something I learned a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well. I’m thinking I’ll need some time to get there.”

Before Shiro can answer him, Keith’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He sighs when he sees who it’s from. “I’d like the pancakes, by the way.”

 **Pidge:** _I know you’re out on a not-date right now, but I think we need to talk about how the Galra knew what we were up to._

 **Me:** _Oh, thank fuck it’s not just me._

 **Pidge:** _Nah, dude. I figured it out in the middle of the trick._

 **Pidge:** _But we’ll talk about it after you negotiate some smooches._

 **Me:** _Fuck off, Katie._

 **Pidge:** _Off with you, grumpy pants! I’ve got money riding on you!_

 **Me:** _FUCK OFF, KATIE._

Keith sighs, tucking his phone away.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks from behind a cup of coffee that must have appeared while Keith had his nose in his phone.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Katie agrees with me. Someone tipped the Galra off.”

“Well, if anyone can figure it out, it’s her.”

“You’re not wrong,” Keith agrees. “So. We’re getting food.”

Shiro raises his eyebrow and sets his mug down. “We are.”

“And what are you hoping to get from said food?”

“Truthfully? Answers, mostly.”

Keith takes a long drink of the ice water set in front of him. “Answers, huh?”

“Look, Keith. I know I’ve been coming on really strong. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. You just have to tell me to stop, you know? I will, if you want me to. But the thing is, you haven’t told me what you want. Sometimes I think you want it, and other times I’m not so sure. I need to know how to act here.”

And he’s right. Keith knows this. Even if Shiro and everyone else has made it really difficult for Keith to wrap his head around things, Keith has probably made it just as difficult for Shiro. If it were anyone else, he strongly suspects he’d be accused of stringing the poor guy along. But that’s really not it. He knows that for a fact.

It’s time to get on the same page.

“Okay, look. I like you, Shiro. It’s been pretty nice getting to know you a little bit over the past few weeks. You have been coming on pretty strong. For me, anyway.” Shiro nods at that, albeit a little sadly. “But that’s not me telling you to knock it off. Maybe just, I dunno, dial it back a notch? I do wanna get to know you more and see what happens, but _holy shit,_ I have it coming from all sides, you know?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s just you in this, right? It’s me trying to figure it out, and literally my whole team trying to meddle. And I love them, Shiro, I really do, but do you know how confusing that makes everything up here?” Keith taps his head for emphasis.

Shiro smiles softly across the table. “Pretty damn hard.”

“Yes!” Keith agrees fervently. Shiro snorts a laugh at him. Keith knows he’s damn near manic right now, but he just needs someone to _understand._ It’s a lot of pressure on a subject he doesn’t mess around in too often. “I just want things to feel natural. If they happen, they happen, right?”

Shiro squeezes his hand and lets go. “Right,” he agrees, and wow, was his hand really on top of Keith’s for all that time? “But for the record, I’d really like them to happen. I like you a lot, Keith.”

“That’s what I hear,” Keith says slyly.

It’s Shiro’s turn to panic. “I really didn’t mean to put so much pressure on you, Keith, I swear. I just wasn’t sure what the best way to approach you was, and Matt said you’re really good friends with Katie, so I kind of just...extrapolated what he was getting at. I knew Katie was good friends with Lance, and that meant you were too, and I knew Allura from way back so I felt comfortable talking to her. I might have also been a little buzzed at the mixer. I...might have pre-gamed to knock the nerves off.”

He looks so adorable, pink-cheeked and word vomiting. And okay, if Keith is totally honest with himself, he knows he likes Shiro. More than he can admit to himself currently. Shiro is kind, and gorgeous, and patient. He’s loyal and outgoing, but not afraid to defend himself, and it’s almost a deadly combination. Keith sets his chin in his hand and smiles across the table as Shiro continues to babble explanations.

“Shiro, it’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“I think this was a conversation we probably should have had a while ago, just to get it out of the way.”

“Probably so,” Shiro laughs.

“So, to summarize: we like each other.” Christ, it sounds so sophomoric when he puts it so simply.

“Mmhmm.”

“There’s been some really undue pressure going on.”

“Yep,” Shiro agrees, popping the p.

“But we’d like to see where this goes.”

Shiro just smiles and nods at that one.

“So,” Keith concludes, “what do we do now?”

Their food arrives just in time to interrupt the moment, and their waitress zips away just as quickly as she came.

“Well,” Shiro says thoughtfully, unwrapping his silverware. “I think we eat this food.”

Keith smiles. “That sounds good.”


	5. Chapter 5

“So what are we gonna do about this? We have to retaliate! We can’t just let them spy on us and not do anything!”

The wood paneling of the rink is cold under Keith’s calves as he sits, splayed out, staring up at the ceiling. Lance rants on and on about what they all already know, and yeah, Keith loves him, but _damn,_ Keith wishes he would just shut up. Allura paces back and forth amidst the loose ring their team forms in the center of the floor, hand settled against her chin as she thinks.

“Well, obviously we need to suss out the plant.”

“You mean the _rat._ ”

“Yes, Lance, we’re all annoyed. Thank you.”

“Here’s what I think,” Pidge interrupts as Lance rears back for an argument. “We know it’s none of us.”

“How would we know that for _sure,_ though?” Shay asks from across the circle.

“Well, think about it. Literally none of us have any reason to help their team. Half of us are here because we’ve been burned by the Galra, and the other half just downright hate them for various reasons. What, besides a ridiculous amount of money and a sincere lack of backbone, would tempt any of us to help them?”

“It sure as hell ain’t fame,” Keith snorts. Pidge side eyes him, but she can’t hide the amusement in her glance.

“So then, who could it be? And why?” Allura asks herself more than anyone, sinking further into her own thoughts.

“Oh, come now, beautiful!” a familiar, grating voice booms from the front door of the rink. The entire team snaps their heads in its direction, to take in Lotor and Acxa as they make a grand entrance. “You can’t think of any _possible_ reason we might want some insight as to what you’re planning?”

“ _Lotor,_ ” Allura hisses. “So you admit to cheating, then? Blatant as the day?”

“I never said those precise words, now did I, gorgeous?” Lotor purrs. “But, perhaps, I could be persuaded to. Given the right price.”

Acxa says nothing, standing at Lotor’s back with arms crossed and a smug grin on her face. Her eyes sweep the rink in assessment, only stopping when they land on Keith’s face. Her smile cracks even wider.

“Hello again, sweetie,” she greets with a lazy waggle of her fingertips. “You look even better when you’re not covered in sweat.”

“What, you just wanna date everyone? Is that it?” Lance demands, throwing his hands in the air. Keith can’t stop the laugh that escapes his mouth before turning it into an awkward cough in his hand. Lotor narrows his eyes at the two of them.

“Think bigger, ankles. Why on Earth could we possibly want to gut the highest ranking team in the league? What could we possibly gain, do you think?’

“It’s not money,” one of their blockers, Thace, pipes up. “We all know you’re loaded.”

 _Ankles?_ Lance mouths to Keith, offended. All Keith can offer in return is a sympathetic shrug.

“Give me more credit than that,” Lotor dismisses, waving a hand around. “Money means nothing to me.”

“Must be nice,” someone grumbles. Keith nods his agreement.

“Then why, praytell, are you breaking league rules and trying to destroy my team?” Allura asks.

“It’s simple, really.” The smarm dripping off of Lotor’s tongue is palpable as he steps through the rink toward Allura. He reaches a hand out toward her, as if to touch her chin himself. She cuts her eyes down to it, flexing her hands into fists in warning, and Lotor’s hand retreats. His body doesn’t, however. “There are things I want. Things that only your team can provide. That only _you_ can provide.”

Acxa steps forward, dropping a stack of envelopes on the floor.

“Inside those envelopes, you’ll find a very reasonable and, dare I say, impossible to decline offer for each of you. If you accept these offers, we will cease our efforts immediately. Should you choose to shun reason, however. Well. Best not to dwell on that.”

“Are you threatening my team? ” Allura growls, leaning forward into his space. She’s small, Allura, but she’s full of a strength and fire that could make any man drop to his knees. In moments like these, Keith remembers why he’s so thankful to always be on her good side. To be liked by her is a blessing. To be disdained... _yikes_. Still, Lotor holds his ground beneath the weight of her glare.

“This is no threat, Princess. Instead, consider it more of a promise of sorts. I’ve always liked promises. They’re so full of potential, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Promise and potential are synonyms,” Pidge mutters. “That sentence meant nothing. It was just words smashed together to sound like it did. Fucking word guacamole.”

Acxa takes a threatening step toward her in response, prompting Keith to his feet.

“Try it,” he says, toneless. He doesn’t need threats or shouting. Keith knows who he is, what he looks like, what he’s capable of. “See what happens.”

Acxa laughs. “You’d hit a girl?”

“For her, I’d hit anyone.”

She laughs again. “Oh, I do like you, Meatgrinder.”

“Acxa. Please. Stop playing with your food. It’s unbecoming.”

Acxa sighs, stepping away from Keith at Lotor’s beckoning. He refuses to show it, but Keith is relieved. He sincerely didn’t want to go to jail today. His bank account couldn’t handle it.

“I think it’s time we took our leave, anyway. A certain team has a big decision to make, yes?”

Lotor breezes past her, leaving with the ease of a man convinced nobody would dare attack him from behind. And he’s right. They all stay rooted in place as he walks calmly toward the exit. Acxa makes to follow, pausing briefly to throw a heated glance back at Keith. “Until next time, babe.”

And just like that, they’re gone.

And just like that, the team is in an uproar.

And just like that, Keith’s world feels as if it’s collapsing.

 

+++

 

The note is heavy in his hands. The words burn, singeing every nerve in his fingers. Nervous tingles skitter up and down his spine. Lance opened and shredded his hours ago, pointedly refusing to discuss its contents in detail. For some reason, Keith just can’t do the same. He needs to shake out the feeling of impending doom the message brings him.

It’s a bigger threat than Keith knows how to articulate. He knows what it means, those lines hand written on the page, and the words implied between them. Lance’s were different than Keith’s. His terms were harsher, he claims.

No matter the wording, these are letters of intent, signed in the blood Lotor intends to spill. Keith still isn’t sure of his motivations. There’s a reason Lotor wants what he wants, but it’s not clear. It’s nonsensical. Rivalry is fine. Rivalry is normal and healthy. But this? Dismantling another team just to win? That’s nuclear warfare.

And it’s disproportionate.

It doesn’t make sense.

Keith pulls out his phone.

 **Me:** _I need to see you._

 

+++

 

“It’s a hell of an offer,” Shiro says on a gusting breath, passing the note back across the table. Their fingers brush when Keith accepts it, grabbing his attention at the sudden surge of warmth. He ignores it in favor of their bigger purpose here. Shiro pauses, glancing down at where their skin meets before shaking himself out of his momentary stupor and retreating back to his side of the table. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m not taking it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Keith shoots back, shoveling a forkful of pasta in his mouth and crumpling the note up in his hand. He chews furiously, glaring down at the ruined mass of paper in his fist. It doesn’t matter. He can still see the words, plain as day, scrawled in jagged script across his mind forever.

“Keith,” Shiro laughs, reaching back across the table to ease his fist back open with gentle fingers. “That’s not what I’m asking and you know it. What are you planning to _do_?”

But that’s why Keith needed to see Shiro in the first place. He’s a step removed from this. He cares, of course, but he’s not directly tied up in the situation like Keith is. He’s far enough away to help Keith clear his head and think critically about everything. Shiro watches his face like a hawk, eyes scanning his own.

“You don’t know, do you?”

Keith sighs. “No. Shiro, why would he even do this in the first place? What’s his motivation? Why our team? What does he have to gain?”

“Well, judging by that note, I’d say a hell of a jammer. As for his motivation, I can’t really think of anything either, except maybe just to take out the top dog, you know?”

“Top dog,” Keith snorts, taking another bite of pasta. He follows it up with a swig of his previously ignored glass of wine. He screws his eyes shut as he swallows, trying to get his thoughts straight. He almost snorts again at that one. As if that’ll ever happen.

“I’m just saying that it really could be that simple. He wants you guys out of the way so he can rule the league.”

Keith opens his eyes again. “That just seems so...I dunno. It’s stupid.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s still a possibility.” Shiro bites into a breadstick thoughtfully. “We can’t rule it out.”

“We?” Keith asks, shocked. He hopes Shiro doesn’t think he wants him to get involved. It’s the last thing he wants. He only wanted an opinion, some advice. Shiro doesn’t need to protect him. He’s not some hopeless protagonist in his own tragic story. Most of all, Keith wouldn’t want Shiro to see any consequences of whatever crusade Lotor has embarked on. Keith doesn’t know him as much as he’d like to just yet, but he does know he wants to spare him from whatever this is. He deserves that.

Shiro drops his breadstick, reaching out to squeeze Keith’s hand.

“Yes, _we._ Keith, you couldn’t possibly think I would just give you my opinion and let you go along on your merry way, could you? Look, I might not be a member of the Garrison, but _you are,_ and where you’re involved is where I’m involved, too. If you don’t want my help, just tell me, but—”

“I want it.”

Shiro startles, eyes widening a fraction. “Yeah?”

Keith’s eyes widen in return. He literally just finished telling himself he didn’t need Shiro’s help. He just informed himself in no uncertain terms that he could handle his own problems and he didn’t need Shiro to get involved. But with Shiro offering so earnestly, and stroking his knuckles all sweet like, Keith just can’t find it in him to turn down the offer.

“Besides,” he reasons, more to himself than Shiro (although Shiro doesn’t need to know that), “the more sets of eyes we have on this, the better.”

Right. Eyes. Big, beautiful, silver eyes that shine like the moon. God, he’s disgusting.

Shiro’s grip tightens around Keith’s a fraction. His posture relaxes, a noticeable loosening of his shoulders. His smile turns fond and easy.

“Good. You know, you could probably nip this now if you took the note to the league president.”

Ah, Honerva Daibazaal. The head bitch herself. Tales of her glory days in the league still circulate; stories about her grit and tenacity, her snarl and absolute merciless skating. She’s a legend in the sport itself, not just the circuit. It would probably behoove them all to involve her, really. But something at the back of Keith’s mind tells him no. Not yet, at least. He wants to get more information, more detail before he presents anything. He needs to have his ducks in a row.

“Quack quack,” Shiro replies. Keith didn’t realize he’d said it out loud. “Well, until we get more ducks for your row, how about we just enjoy the rest of dinner, huh?”

“Yeah.” Keith smiles. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Dinner is much easier when Keith shoves the note in his pants pocket and resolves to forget all about it, instead laughing at a story Shiro tells from his glory days of helping Matt shovel horse shit when he went through a weird farming phase.

“So, you mean to tell me you were a cowboy for a solid year of your life?”

“Giddyup,” Shiro deadpans. There’s a twinkle to his eye as he says it, something with implication Keith isn’t ready to address. “But, eventually, Matt got over it and moved on to something more reasonable. Rocket science.”

Keith sputters loud, nearly spitting out a mouthful of wine. “Rocket science?”

“Oh, yeah. He handles the Holt’s contracts to NASA now. This one stuck, thank God.”

Keith guffaws at that. “You know, I've known Katie for ages and never realized what Matt did. And what about you?”

Shiro’s eyes soften, his gaze distant. “Matt got me a job with the company, too. He really saved my ass when I didn’t think there was anything left for me.”

“What do you do?”

“I write tech manuals for the components the company produces. How to install, how to operate, how to troubleshoot. Basic stuff, really.”

“Basic,” Keith repeats, dumbfounded. “Just a casual genius. Cool. Okay.”

It’s one thing to have all the muscles, all the badass war veteran history (although he knows Shiro would probably argue that point), the big dimples when he smiles. But to be able to just walk into an office and bang out an operating manual for machines that have just been invented? Keith draws stuff for a living. That feels like beans in comparison. Yeah, it’s a lot of work and commitment and time _,_ but rockets, though. _Rockets_.

Shiro’s cheeks go pink. “I won’t lie, I _am_ pretty smart, but writing the manuals isn’t all that difficult. They give me all the info I need, I plug it into a standard format, run it through for editing, and send it out into the world. My little word baby.”

Keith smiles at that, settling his chin in a palm. “You sound like you really care about it, though.”

“The work’s been really good for me. I have my own place and everything. I couldn’t have imagined that a few years ago.”

“That’s really great, Shiro,” Keith says sincerely. He can’t help but wonder what an apartment Shiro lives in would be like. Would it be a mess? Tidy? Modern? Eclectic? Rustic, to capture the brief period of time that he could’ve worn assless chaps? “I’d like to see it, sometime.”

Shiro freezes.

“Yeah?” he breathes, and shit. _Shit._ Keith went and did it again. He’s really gotta learn to control his mouth better. At least teach it how to properly frame his thoughts.

“I—I mean, I just think it would be interesting to see if your apartment matches you. That’s all. Nothing crazy.”

“Oh, of course,” Shiro agrees, smirking. “Nothing crazy.”

“Right.”

“Although, if you wanted”—Shiro leans forward across the table—“it could be something crazy.”

“You are extremely forward, Shiro.”

“Only when it’s something I want.”

“Keep dreaming.”

Shiro’s laugh in response is deep and booming.

“Keith, you have no idea.”

 

+++

 

 **Pidge:** _Did you read it?_

 **Me:** _Yes._

 **Pidge:** _Bad as mine?_

 **Me:** _Worse, possibly._

 **Me:** _Katie, this feels really bad. Something bad is coming._

 **Pidge:** _I know, Keithy. I’m not sure what to do this time._

 **Me:** _The only thing we can do is get more information. See what he wants._

 **Pidge:** _That’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t understand what he could possibly be getting out of this._

 **Me:** _Who knows, but whatever it is, it’s more than just scalping team members and shutting us down._

 **Pidge:** _You think there’s something else going on._

 **Me:** _I’m sure there is._

 **Pidge:** _Well, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours._

 **Me:** _Deal._

 **Pidge:** _[img]_

 _[_ Katherine,

I do hope this letter finds you well. Below, you will find my terms outlined neatly. They are brief, but fair.

  * Leave the Galaxy Garrison derby team effective immediately
  * Join the Galra derby team with a three-year contract effective the first of the month
  * Immediately cease contact with any and all former teammates who do not transfer to the Galra derby team
  * An immediate payment of 5,000 USD will be transferred to your bank account, followed by two annual payments of 3,000 USD until the contract terms are met
  * Your position will be determined upon acceptance of these terms



I look forward to your response.

Regards,

Lotor _]_

 **Me:** _[img]_

 _[_ Keith,

I must confess, you are the person I wish most to bring into the fold of the Galra derby team. Your athleticism and prowess are second to none, and I feel you would be a most valuable asset to the team. My terms to offer are as follows:

  * Leave the Galaxy Garrison derby team effective immediately
  * Join the Galra derby team with a five-year contract as head jammer immediately
  * Immediately cease contact with any and all former teammates who do not transfer to the Galra derby team, as well as with any other league members outside of the Galra derby team
  * An immediate payment of 10,000 USD will be transferred to your bank account, followed by four annual payments of 7,000 USD until the contract terms are met



I do so look forward to receiving your response.

Best wishes,

Lotor _]_

 **Pidge:** _Keith. Keith, he knows about Shiro._

 **Me:** _Everyone knows about Shiro, Katie._

 **Pidge:** _You know what I mean. I mean he KNOWS._

 **Me:** _Yeah, I figured that out myself._

 **Pidge:** _Does Shiro know?_

 **Me:** _Yeah, but he didn’t seem all that concerned when I showed him. Just asked me what we were gonna do._

 **Pidge:** _We?_

 **Me:** _Yeah. He wants to help._

 **Pidge:** _God, he’s so into you._

 **Me:** _Gross._

 **Pidge:** _Gross._

 

+++

 

 **Allura:** _I won’t ask for details of your offer, but I will tell you mine is exorbitant._

 **Me:** _It can’t be any more shocking than mine._

 **Allura:** _Can’t it?_

 **Allura:** _[img]_

 _[_ Allura,

The crown jewel of the Galaxy Garrison derby team. The Garrison’s princess, nay, queen. I daresay I wish to gain the same for myself. My terms:

  * Immediately dissolve the Galaxy Garrison derby team
  * Join the Galra derby team as permanent Co-Captain effective immediately
  * Immediately cease contact with any and all former teammates who do not transfer to the Galra derby team, as well as with any other league members outside of the Galra derby team
  * Name your price, and I will give it



With hope,

Lotor _]_

**Me:** _Allura._

**Me:** _What is he trying to do?_

**Allura:** _I have no idea Keith, but whatever it is, it’s not good._

 

+++

 

Keith’s ringtone is shrill in the quiet apartment. It throws him off, his arm jerking, sending his pen skittering across the page. He growls at his ruined linework and fumbles around the couch cushions to find it. He doesn’t bother looking when he answers, only three people call him anyway.

“What,” he growls into the receiver.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Shiro’s smooth voice replies.

Make that four. Four people call him now.

“Sorry,” Keith apologizes, “I was in the middle of something.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can call back, if you—”

“No, it’s fine. I can fix it later. What’s up?”

A brief pause plays across the line, Shiro’s soft breathing the only indication that their call is even still connected.

“I need you to come over.”

“...What?”

“Fuck, that sounded bad. Okay, no, I just think I might have found something you need to see. I think it might be safest if you come see it in person, though. Just in case.”

That piques Keith’s curiosity. What could Shiro have possibly found that would be sensitive enough to need to show Keith in private? Again, a twinge of curiosity lights up in Keith’s mind. What does Shiro’s apartment look like? He’d really like to know.

“Fine. I wanna see if your place looks like you, anyway.”

“You wanna see if the carpets match the drapes,” he laughs.

“Bye.”

“I’ll send you my location.”

>> **Shiro <3 **has shared his location with you<<

 **Shiro <3: ** _They do._

Keith chokes on his own tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all like conspiracies, because HERE WE ARE.
> 
> also, i feel i should apologize for how long i take between updates of this story. this is my relaxation piece, so i tend to update whenever i have the time to myself to just write whatever and play around. i'm not gonna lie, i had a pretty shitty back half of 2018, but new year new me etc (she says, approaching february), so i'm planning to give this the attention and resolution it deserves. i can't give a stone cold update schedule, but it will be much more regular, and i plan to finish this baby soon!
> 
> if you'd like, you can still come see me on twitter @these_mortals. i also still check and post to my tumblr from time to time if you'd like to catch me there!

**Author's Note:**

> aaayyyyeeee!!!
> 
> come see me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk these boys! <3!!


End file.
